And on to another original:

     Sakura and Green Tea

   An original piece of fiction by:

   Brian Randall

   He sighed, his eyes closed as he relaxed against the large rock near
the center of the spring. The hot water rippled slightly, sending
reverberations he could feel against his skin. Soft waves of pressure in
sharp contrast to the smoothness of the stone behind.

The water behind him bubbled. He looked quickly around to see if anyone had
noticed. No. Good.

   Opening his eyes, the veil of steam against the cold mountain air
parted, revealing a face to him. A familiar face to him -- a woman with
fair features, and short hair carefully bound into a knob tied

knob, tied.

 >    He smiled softly, as the woman crept closer, moving slowly though the

water, and carefully bearing a wooden platform in both hands. She
tripped, dropping it to the water as she struggled to regain her footing
with the least possible amount of upset to the platform, as it drifted
away from her.

It's Usagi with a different haircut and a dye-job. Now I understand.

   Groaning slightly, but not lessening his smile, he reached forward
and stopped it, then reached another hand to her. She flushed, staring
down at herself, and the slight swell of her breasts against the towel
she wore wrapped around her. He nodded, dismissing the incident, and she
slipped

I'd use a different word than 'slipped' or would rephrase the sentence.

   Again waiting, she watched with breath held barely in check, until he
sipped at his drink and nodded approval. Smiling, she sipped her own,
uttering only a small contented murmur before lowering it,

and collapsing face first in the water. He smiled. The drug had taken effect
quickly.

   The seal and the red tassel told him of its importance, more than any
words ever could. The woman pulled her own robe on, fear shining bright
in her eyes as she knelt opposite him at the table, waiting for him to
open the letter.

   He nodded, trying to appear gruff, and biting back words that he
looked to wish to say.

Especially, "God, you look like shit in the morning.'

   She stared at her hands, carefully folded before her, not looking up.
Sighing, he opened the letter, reading it to himself, and hanging his
head at the first line. He did not need to read it more.

Ed McMahnon told him he was not a winner.

   He folded it back, and slid it across the table. She accepted the
letter, not reading it, and knowing by the man's demeanor what it said.
She looked up, and met his eyes, hers bright now not with fear, but
unshed tears, and nodded to him, then bowing her acceptance.

   He opened his mouth again, to speak, but no words came,

He had forgotten that he had  been born a mute.

 and he

gestured helplessly, unsure again before letting his gruff demeanor hide
the worry. Standing he

Standing, he

   Rising to his feet, he bowed apologetically, and turned away, leaving
the building. He turned towards it near the man holding the horses,
drinking it in with his eyes, and taking a deep, unsteady breath. His
eyes caught on a small copse of trees some distance from the hot spring,
which the girl also looked towards, their eyes shining with mutual
sadness. The attendant nodded knowingly, handing the man the reigns of
one horse, and stepping back.

   Not turning to look again, the man mounted his horse, and rode
towards the rising sun, followed shortly by the attendant.

Sad little piece. Little to short, for my taste. Not much more than a scene,
really. But effective in what it does. Nice work.

D.B. Sommer

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